nature photographs – Leslie Sheridan

AS WITHIN, SO WITHOUT

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AS WITHIN, SO WITHOUT

Ferncliff Forest in Rhinebeck, New York, is a beautiful 200 acre privately owned Preserve with hiking trails and a modest camping and picnic area that surrounds a serene lake. It is a nature lover’s respite. The area begs to be photographed. I gave in to it. I took a few photographs as we climbed up large hills winding through bare trees. I could imagine how the trees would look in a month when the leaves filled in the bare spaces. My destination – the reason that I wanted to go the forest in the first place – awaited me in the center of the forest on top of a steep hill. My camera ready, I excitedly climbed the hill and walked up to the fire tower. I was genuinely surprised at what happened next.

When I walked up to the tower’s steps, I hesitated. I allowed others to go before me. It was not what I expected, but I did not understand the apprehension I was feeling. I climbed the first set of steps, about a dozen. Simple deer fencing was all that covered the outside of the tower from the base of the steps up to the railing on each set of steps all the way up the 80 foot tower. I’ve climbed the Statue of Liberty’s narrow steps, only feeling slight vertigo. But, this was different. Once I got to the landing before climbing the next set of steps, I froze. Hesitatingly, I began to climb the next set of steps to the landing with tears in my eyes. I started up again and again backed down turned around on the landing and went down the first set of stairs and once down on the ground, looked up at the tower, my fear beginning to grow.

I had started repeating “I can’t, I can’t” over and over which was turning into a self fulfilling prophecy. Someone I was with said to me, “What are you afraid of?” In that moment I knew my fear was a metaphor. What I was afraid of was beginning to become clear. And, suddenly I became frustrated with myself for not trying harder. I had waited so long to come here, climb the tower and take breathtaking photographs of the view from the top.

Where does fear come from? Are we taught to fear? Or do we create our own fear? And is there something else at play here? Fear is paralyzing, it stops us in our tracks inhibiting us from moving forward. It doesn’t matter what you are afraid of or what event triggers the fear. Why we fear is personal. All humans are not afraid of the same thing. Most people fear spiders, others do not; some fear other people or situations while it doesn’t bother other people; many people fear death and others enjoy living. I believe some fears go way back, not only in this life time, but further back, to a past life. We are all working out karma from another life or lifetimes. If we don’t work it out in one life time, we carry that karma with us to the next life and so on. I believe that while I was on the fire tower the karma clock was ticking.

With a fear to conquer I decided that the third time was the charm. I began again. The first set of steps. The second set of steps, half way up, backed down, sobbing from fear. I knew what my fear was and it wasn’t the tower’s steps. The fear I felt inside about moving forward – financial security, stability, taking the next step – was manifesting on the outside. As within so without.

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Determined to get up the tower and take pictures, I looked up, not down or ahead, as was suggested by someone else and I prayed to be kept safe as I moved upward. I breathed, counted the steps and finally made it up the fourth set of steps (about half of the tower –the rest will have to wait until fall when I go back). The view of the Hudson River and the Kingston-Rhinecliff Bridge was amazing. It was more amazing because I had chosen to move forward. In the end what helped was counting steps…one at a time.

THE FOUR SEASONS

After the long, bitter cold, seemingly never-ending winter we had this year, I promised that I would never again complain about the oppressively hot weather that would come the following summer. And, then it seemed that the cold weather long jumped from the record – breaking harsh northeast winter – over a briefly cool, rainy, leaf-budding and flower-blooming spring – to an early – not quite ready for it – summer. The (almost) summer of my discontent had begun.

I thought with the constantly accumulating snow that fell this winter there would still be snow on the ground in June. But now, with less than two weeks of spring left, I am somewhat excitedly waiting for the summer solstice to arrive. The change of seasons is so beautiful that I don’t think I could ever give up living in the beautiful northeast.

So, when spring arrived this year, I was one of the happiest people around, like a child when school lets out for summer recess. No more shovelling, no more winter coats, hats, scarves, boots or gloves. Winter is done, gone, good-bye. Spring arrived with some rain, sunshine, daffodils, birds and bees. It’s a sign that Persephone, the cherished daughter of Demeter, the Earth Mother, has once again returned from the Underworld and Hades. It’s also time to clean up the gardens, plant new flowers, fill up the Hummingbird feeder, and sitting under a tree in my favorite park with a good book.

I don’t really dislike winter and summer. There is something about all the seasons that I enjoy. My favorite part of spring has to be the increasing sunny days and working in the garden; summertime, and the living is easy – shorts and flip-flops and being at the ocean – although I would visit the ocean anytime of the year; fall – who doesn’t love the fall – I love everything about it; winter is quiet and pretty when it snows, walking on the roads – before they are plowed – everything looks perfect. Photography, being one of my favorite hobbies, insures that my camera is aimed at all four seasons.

Getting through the hardest parts of the winter and the summer – if one does not enjoy the extreme cold or heat – can be challenging. I recalled something one of my yoga teachers taught me. Some of the yoga positions are hard, but, like life, you breathe through it – inhale and exhale – and then you are back in the moment.

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THE GIFT

Writing is not what I aspired to. In English and History classes in high school, I dreaded writing and barely got past the first paragraph. College papers, when they were required, were the bare minimum. My papers resembled lists and I repeated myself in those essays or reports. I did not enjoy writing. It may have been explained in English class, but I did not really know how to construct an essay, a story or a report. So, I could never have imagined then that I would become a published author.

It is said that to write well, you need to read to understand how sentences are structured and how to put a story together. Growing up, I loved reading books. I read classics like, “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn” ; Guy de Maupassant’s tragic short story, “The Necklace” twice, and every book by Tracy Chevalier. I would read biographies on almost anyone and I still do, for school and for enjoyment. I read magazines from cover to cover, the New York Times and watched television news programs. This is how I learned how to deliver and write a story. I saw writing as a way to obtain information or for entertainment, never as an art form.

And then, in late 2008 I had a life change. After twenty years working in the accounting department for a media company that included a newspaper and a magazine, I was laid off. During the first year of unemployment when I had related the story of my spiritual journey to someone, it was suggested to me that I had a lot to tell, and that I should write books. I thought to myself “Never. That is not something I would remotely be interested in doing.” I did not like writing….I could not write. On reflection I wondered if that was because I did not think I had a story to tell.

Well, I did not think about that exchange again, until two years later when I took classes at a community college and found myself looking at the college’s club bulletin board. There were clubs and organizations for nearly everything and everyone. I found myself looking straight at a notice for the college newspaper. I was led to it. I felt it was a sign, so I humored my spirit guides, even though I still did not believe I could write anything. So, I attended the first meeting and I got a positive feeling. Something inside of me changed. Shortly after that, I wrote my first brief on an event at the college. A simple paragraph. I could not write any more than that. Still, I kept at it. There must be a reason why I joined the college newspaper.

My next assignment was to be an article on plagiarism. The publisher said there had been increased issues with students copying papers and cheating on tests due to the availability of cell phones. I took my time with it and really got into investigating and interviewing people for the piece. I really enjoyed what I was doing and the writing came easily: I wrote over 900 words. The editor told me the writing was good and nothing needed to be edited. I remember thinking: what happened in that one month from the first piece that was a basic paragraph of information that I scraped together to this 900 plus word story? I never took a writing class. I was never a journalist. So, how did this transition happen? Where did this sudden burst of writing come from?

I don’t know how else to explain it other than it was meant to be. Destiny. The universe led me to it. Specifically, on a soul level, it was planned before my current incarnation. We all have “blueprints” of what our human experiences will entail. The who, what, when, where and how of our souls journey. Who our parents will be, what lessons our souls want to learn, where we will live, who we will marry, how many children we will have, and when our souls current mission will end. I believe my spirit guides and guardian angels, who were with my soul during the planning stages for this incarnation, gave me gentle reminders about events that were pre-planned and guided me through the implementation of those plans. They led me to that bulletin board and subsequently helped with the writing of my book, “Sweet Dreams”. While the characters in the short story are composites of people I knew in this life-time, and are now on the other side, I am very certain one of them also assisted with her part of the story.

Everyone has a story to tell whether it’s happy, tragic or inspiring. Writing is only a part of mine. Although it did not come naturally to me until a few years ago, I really enjoy it now. For me, writing is a gift that I share with everyone. It is not mine to keep. I am grateful for this gift. Who knows where it will take me or for how long. Everyday, I look for something to write about; or an idea will “pop” into my head – divine intervention. Be grateful for your gifts whatever they are.

Happy Christmas and Best Wishes for all great things in 2015.

Sweet Dreams

A GHOST STORY

One rainy spring day a couple of years ago, I took my Nikon camera and went for a walk in a local park. Being in nature is very restorative for me and I love photographing nature. I had taken about two dozen photos already that afternoon when I came upon a road where no one was walking. The road was on a slight incline, with a gentle curve, and a canopy of green leaves overhead, protecting me from the light rain. It was there that I took my one of my last photographs.

I looked at that scene before I raised my camera and then looked at the scene again on the camera’s screen. Click. I looked at the camera’s screen to see what my photo would actually look like. It looked good…except for the white ball at the bottom right. I didn’t recall a child’s ball there before and during the time I took the photograph. Suddenly, I got chills and not the good kind. I felt scared and started walking toward the exit from the park. I knew it was an orb. But, was it a ghost? If not, who or what was it?

I walked over a small stone walled bridge near the exit of the park. I looked at the stone wall with a tree towering above it. I didn’t think it would make a good picture, but I felt compelled to take one last photo. Click. Once again, I look in my camera’s screen and I see the same bright orb near the top of the stone wall, as if whoever it was, was sitting on the stone wall, posing for me. I wasn’t scared, but rather I thought whoever or whatever it was had a sense of humor.

Somewhere, I had read that nature angels or fairies’ orbs are bright. Maybe it was an angel or a very large fairy. I had taken photographs before that showed orbs: in a church, in a school, and outdoors. I have taken photographs that have shown several orbs in different sizes, but not as bright as the orb I saw in the park that day.

To my recollection I have never seen a ghost, apparition, spirit or whatever you want to call it. Well, I have seen an orb that glided along the floor of a house I lived in… temporarily. After my logical side proved that it couldn’t be a passing car’s lights reflecting in the house, I jumped up and turned on every light in the small house. ( I had been watching a movie with the lights off – serves me right.) Several years ago, an intuit told me that I was able to see spirits when I was a child, but that I had been taught to be afraid of them. To this day, I am petrified of seeing a ghost. In my bathroom, on some occasions, I just know a spirit is there, although this entity travels to different areas of my house. But the paranormal activity doesn’t stop there. On one very frigid winter day, I picked up my cell phone to call someone and while I was waiting to hear the connection go through, I began to hear something like a radio frequency instead. An awareness that something odd was happening struck me. And then I heard a female voice saying clearly but eerily, “Leave the ranch.” I tried to get this persons attention by saying, “Hello, who is this?” And, I wanted to know what “leave the ranch” meant? Get out of the house or leave them some salad dressing? But then it was over. It didn’t really scare me then, oddly enough and it was the only occurrence. If I am right and there is a spirit in my house, I haven’t yet mustered the courage to ask who it is. On second thought, I don’t want to know.

There are ghosts or spirits that are called ‘earth-bounds’ – souls who have left their human bodies but have not crossed over into the light. And believe me, when I hear that a friend, family member or someone I know has passed away, I cross them over. It’s not because I don’t want my house to be paranormally active – I don’t. It’s for the sake of the departed soul. They belong on the other side, except when they come back for a visit. There are spirits and angels all around us. I have felt friends, family members, my spirit guides, and angels. They’re not around to scare us – they’re checking in to say, “Hello.” I can’t see them, but I have seen something out of the corner of my eye on more than one occasion and they usually give you a good feeling, a feeling of warmth, sometimes physically. I have felt this way when my cat, Zippy, visits me. He sits right next to my leg when I’m laying in bed watching a movie. With the lights on.